The Wistful Skyline
The first thing I noticed was the weight of the ink, a thick, viscous blackness that sat in the well of the nib like a drop of blood, heavy with the promise of permanence. I had spent forty years measuring the bones of this city, tracing its arteries in vellum and iron-gall, and I told myself the anomaly was merely a defect in the supply, a cheap vial from the supplier on 4th Street that had...
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